Hello! So. I am doing something I swore I wouldn't do again ha. I'm posting a story that I'm still working on and isn't complete. I SWORE I wouldn't do this again after "The Christmas Spirit" took me nearly a year to finish heehee. But thing is...I kind of need to post. Because if I'm just writing for myself, I'm excruciatingly lazy and I'd probably never get this finished. So I'm taking a chance here and throwing it out while I'm still working on it hopefully to put some pressure on myself to keep posting. It's also more fun sharing than just reading it to myself. :) So fair warning...it's a WIP but I am committed to finishing it (and in much shorter a time frame than a year!)

Also! This story will bring back the Penders from "The Christmas Spirit." For those who were so wonderful to stick with that monstrously long story, hopefully you'll enjoy seeing Arla and Tommy back again. And for those who haven't read TCS, don't worry, just know that they are a nice older couple who took care of the boys when they needed some help back in early Season 1.

Set immediately following Born Again Identity, S7, because so much more needed to happen. Sigh. Season 7 broke the boys. I felt the need to put them back together again (after maybe breaking them just a tiny bit more...).

Title and chapter titles from "Brother" by NEEDTOBREATHE.

Chapter 1: When the Sky Begins to Fall

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.

He'd been dreading it, but expecting the nightmares, the continued fleeting moments of panic when the lines between reality and hallucinations would still blur.
He'd been expecting Sam to crash for about a month.
What he hadn't been expecting was Sam not crashing right away. And what he should have been prepared for, but found himself completely surprised by, was the withdrawal.

Dean had been riding such an unbelievable high at the miraculous ease of their escape that it made the inevitable crash back to reality that much more staggering.

It truly had been nothing short of a miracle that they'd made it out of the hospital, but Dean thought it was even more miraculous, if that were possible, that Sam had made it out without needing much more than an occasional word of guidance or a steadying hand to keep him tilted in the right direction. Reaching the crappy vehicle of the week, Dean felt the giddy urge to actually do a victory dance. Instead, Sam started talking and they had a brief, but far too long, conversation about Cas. The last thing he wanted to do was stand around talking; even if it was nice to have a sane conversation with his brother for the first time in what seemed like forever. He just wanted to get as far away as humanly possible as fast as humanly possible.

Once in the car, he had one split second of believing that the worst was behind them. It was a good split second, followed immediately by sheer, overwhelming panic.

Dean slipped the key into the ignition, a relieved grin beginning to form on his face, despite the underlying, raging worry, as he turned to look at Sam. Sam, who had been shockingly alert and functional, now lay melted bonelessly against the seat, eyes closed. Dean's panic went from 0 to 100 in the next split second and his hands reached out, clumsily searching for a pulse, breath, a response.

Anything.

"Sam!" Dean shouted way too loudly in the confined space. Sam didn't respond and even though he felt a pulse, one that was tripping a bit unsteadily and way too fast, Dean didn't like it at all. He shifted in his seat and grabbed at Sam's jacket with his left hand to give him a shake while he used his right hand to tilt Sam's face toward him.

It felt like eternities passed, but it was less than a second before Sam dragged a hand up and closed shaking fingers around Dean's left wrist.

"Sam." Dean's panic must have come through loud and clear this time. Answer me now!

Sam rolled his head a bit closer to Dean, trapping his hand between his cheek and the seat back. Getting his eyes open looked like the hardest task he'd ever been asked to complete, but Dean started breathing again when he was able to see Sam looking back at him; tired, no scratch that, exhausted eyes containing a hint of amusement. Dean wasn't amused by anything right now, though.

Undisguised tension leaking out in his voice and the way he hadn't moved away yet, Dean tried for casual nonetheless and said, "Hey."

"'Mtired." Sam's voice was wrecked and his words slid together as one.

Dean felt the breath and stress rush out of him in a heavy sigh. He lowered his head and again tried to remember how to breathe, then gently pulled his hand out from where it was squished between Sam's face and the seat. He patted his brother's chest, dislodging Sam's weak grasp on his arm and said, "I know."

"Y'alright?"

With a snort, Dean shook his head, started the car and said, "I'm nowhere near alright."

"Happened?" Sam asked, his eyes barely open, but still focused on Dean.

He sounded completely floored and Dean couldn't help but wonder what exactly his brother even remembered from the hospital...or the last few months. Now was not the time to discuss it, though. Dean turned out onto the main road and pressed down on the gas. He asked, "Sammy?"

"Hm?"

"Go to sleep."

"K."

But he didn't go to sleep. Not unless he was sleeping with his eyes open. For the next hour and a half, every time Dean glanced over at him, which was about every thirty seconds, Sam was lying exactly where he had been and blinking slowly as he stared back.

"Sam?" Dean finally spoke up.

Sam cleared his throat and asked, "What?"

"Thought you were gonna sleep."

"Where're we goin?"

"As far as we can go. Then a motel. Not long, ok? I promise there's a bed in your near future, man." Dean couldn't even force an encouraging smile at this point. Tension throbbed through his entire body, driving spikes of pain behind his eyes. The fact that Sam was still awake was stressing him out in a way he couldn't even explain. He wanted to drive forever, get as far away as possible, but yet another glance at his brother told him he needed to adjust his plans. He said, "Just hang on."

"Dean?"

"What?" Dean snapped. He wanted Sam to shut up. To go to sleep. To stop looking like he was dead.

He didn't get any of the three. Sam squinted at him a little and asked, "Where are we?"

"I don't know. Somewhere in Indiana." Dean answered, running a hand over his face and turning the car south. He wasn't going near Chicago so he opted for the straightest shot of road going anywhere but here.

For the next ten minutes or so, the car fell silent. Dean almost relished it because he needed the quiet. Needed to think. Needed to come to terms with everything that had just happened. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Cas, though. And his stomach twisted uncomfortably. Slamming a lid on thinking about Cas, Dean looked back at Sam and knew he needed to find a place to stay. Now. For both their sakes.

"How you holdin up?" Dean asked, his voice scratchy and quiet.

From his own assessment of his brother, Sam wasn't holdin' up. Not at all. He was looking less lively by the second, which wasn't saying much. He'd looked like a corpse since he'd sat down in the car, but his eyes remained stubbornly open. Dean couldn't help but wonder if he was afraid to close them.

Sam stared at him for a long second, then whispered, "We got any water?"

Dean cursed, the car swerving a bit as he dug around in the pile of gear he had littering the back seat. What had he been thinking? He'd got them to the car and on the road out of town but hadn't done anything to make sure Sam was really ok. He took in the cracked, dry lips, the way Sam swallowed painfully as he caught sight of the bottle of water and knew his brother was dehydrated; probably seriously so.

"Here, Sam. Sorry." Dean handed him the water bottle, then paused when Sam didn't automatically reach out to grab it. "Sam?"

Sam's arms remained limp on the seat, but he slid his tongue across his lips and asked in a halting voice so pained that Dean winced, "Can you take the cap off?"

Dean's anxiety thudded against his chest at his brother's request, but he took the cap off and this time, when he offered the bottle, Sam dragged a hand off the seat and took the bottle shakily. Probably a quarter of it wound up spilling down Sam's shirt or onto the seat, but Dean didn't even care. For one thing, it wasn't the Impala. For another thing, it was water. Something Sam seemed to be in much need of. When he'd finished about half, he held it back out to Dean who took it wordlessly and twisted the cap back on.

"Better?"

Sam smiled, licking his lips again and shifting ever so slightly. He said, "Thanks."

Dean nodded, satisfied that he'd done at least one thing right. A few minutes passed in silence before Sam spoke up again.

"And thanks for coming back to get me." Sam said, his voice sounding just a pinch less torn up this time.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Dean tried for a smirk, but his words and attempt at humor fell flat when he caught the guilty flash of uncertainty in Sam's eyes.

He hadn't been sure.

And that made Dean hate himself a thousand times over for the way he'd walked out of the hospital without really making sure Sam knew he intended to do whatever it took to get him out. That he wasn't abandoning him. Thinking back, he still felt the sharp pain in his chest that had spiked as he'd walked out on his brother. He hadn't been thinking clearly that day; probably hadn't been thinking clearly for a long time in fact. All he'd been able to focus on that day had been the fact that Sam had apparently given up fighting, or more accurately, was too completely wiped out to keep fighting. He'd known looking at him that Sam wasn't going to be able to hang on much longer, so he'd practically run for the door, desperate beyond words to find a solution.

In reflection, he probably should have spent a little more time trying to get that through his brother's stubborn, sleep-deprived head before he'd run out on him.

Casting him a quick glance, Dean shook his head and asked, "What in our entire history makes you think I wouldn't come back for you?"

The brief uncertainty vanished as if Dean had imagined it and Sam smiled as he whispered, "Nothing at all."

"Exactly." Dean said firmly, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel loosening ever so slightly as he relaxed back into the seat.

Minutes ticked by in comfortable silence and his spinning, worrying, tumbling thoughts narrowed down to we're gonna be alright. Find a place to hole up and get a bit of rest…

"Dean?"

Sam's whisper broke into his musing and Dean mumbled a distracted "Hm?"

And then his distraction disappeared like the bubble of growing relief that he had just started to enjoy. Because his brother, who had been doing a good impression of a wet sock, suddenly jackknifed forward and all the water he'd recently managed to drink was coming back up. All over his jeans, boots, all over the floorboard.

"Crap! Sam…" Dean cursed loudly as he veered the car to a rough stop on the gravel shoulder of the road. Sam just kept throwing up water as his arms wrapped around his chest and his forehead smacked against the dashboard.

Car safely in park, Dean scooted over and put a hand against Sam's forehead to keep him from smacking his head again. Sam pressed against him, moaning and retching, arms tight around his chest. It reminded Dean abruptly that Sam's suffering wasn't solely linked to days of not sleeping. He'd been hit by a damned car on top. Broken rib, concussion, bruised wrist… Dean shook his head and got a better grip on Sam's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, easy…" Dean tried for supportive and just sounded scared. All Sam had brought up was water which made Dean wonder exactly how long it had been since his brother had even eaten anything.

Sam coughed a couple times, then put a hand against the dashboard, barely lifting his head enough for him to meet Dean's gaze. He asked, "Is this real?"

Dean's heart dropped, but he immediately nodded and his voice was rock steady even if nothing else was as he said, "It's real. You're fine. Hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Come on, then," Dean forced himself to take charge of the situation. "Sit back. We're gonna find a place to stay."

Sam settled back against the seat, but kept his arms wrapped around his chest this time and he didn't look relaxed anymore. He looked like he was wound so tight a deep breath would shatter him. Sam stared blankly for a moment then said, "I can't remember what happened."

His voice and expression told Dean exactly how freaked out he was, but now was still not the time for this discussion. Not when they were on the side of a road leading who knew where with people potentially after them and Cas gone crazy and Dean's head ready to explode. So he said, as calming as he could, "I do. So trust me, ok? You need some sleep. A lot of sleep. A week of sleep. That's all you need to worry about right now. Got it?"

Sam nodded, then flinched and put a hand to his head.

Dean got the car back on the road and said, "Good. I'm gonna find a motel so you can crash then I'll go grab some stuff cuz I'm betting you haven't eaten anything in…."

"No," Sam cut him off, "I'll come with you."

"What? To the grocery store? Dude, you're beat." Dean shook his head, "Only place you're going is to bed."

Despite his proclamation, Dean could see Sam was not letting it go. He was breathing faster and looking surprisingly agitated for someone who also looked ready to drop from exhaustion. But it was the almost inaudible, "Please," that brought Dean up short. He couldn't fight him. Not when he was so sick and tired and confused and overwhelmed.

"Ok, ok. We'll stop at a gas station on the way to the motel. I'll make a quick grab and then we'll go." Dean said, compromising as best he could. "Satisfied?"

Sam nodded, settling back and, finally, closing his eyes.

And because he just couldn't leave well enough alone, Dean had to ask, "You ok?"

"No."

Dean couldn't blame him.

It was by far the fastest run through a gas station mini-mart Dean had ever made in his life. And he'd made some pretty damn quick mini-mart dashes in his time. Armful of Gatorade. Extra-Strength Tylenol. Plain crackers because he had a feeling Sam wasn't going to be ready for beef jerky or a hot dog yet. He grabbed the jerky for himself though, along with a case of beer and a bottle of Jack. Purely medicinal. He wouldn't be drinking for recreation tonight but he had a strong feeling he was going to need some medicine of his own once he got Sam situated comfortably and sound asleep.

Dodging past a trucker searching for a candy bar, Dean grabbed a few other odds and ends and glanced out the window, his racing heart slowing just a bit once he caught sight of Sam, still sitting in the car. Eyes closed, head back against the seat, he looked like he could be sleeping, but even from inside the store, Dean could see the lines of tension on his face and in his slumped posture. He was very much awake and not at all relaxed despite appearances. Practically throwing the cash at the clerk, Dean dashed back outside.

Opening the car door had Sam shifting toward him, but not panicking. He just blinked and stared as Dean dropped the bags onto the seat between them. Dean said, "You want to try some Gatorade now?"

Sam shook his head excruciatingly slowly and whispered, "Wait till we're not driving anymore."

Dean grimaced in sympathy, starting the car up. He backed out of the parking space and asked, "Still sick to your stomach?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Well, hang on there. Motel up next. Clerk said there's a decent one a couple miles down the road. Be there in ten."

Sam didn't comment and Dean hit the gas. He pulled into the motel parking lot just under nine minutes later. Fifteen minutes after that, he'd paid for a room and parked the car in front and turned the engine off. Sam's eyes were closed again when Dean turned to him and said, "We're here."

"Give me a minute."

"Ok." Dean nodded. He hesitated for a few seconds, then grabbed the bags of supplies and said, "I'll be right back."

A half-hearted lift of his brother's hand was his permission to go unlock the door of the room, take a quick perusal of the amenities, and dump the bags on the table. He was back outside in under a minute. Rounding the car, he saw that Sam had managed to get the door open, but was still sitting, unmoving, in the seat. Ok, so maybe he needs two minutes, Dean decided, continuing around the car to the trunk. He pulled out Sam's gear, then reached back in for his. And yanked on it a few dozen times when it refused to budge. His blood pressure spiked and he cursed, leaning in and finally untangling the loop on his bag from the obstruction beneath it.

Frustration and anger not abated, he slammed the trunk and stomped into the room again, dumping the gear on one of the beds. Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand over his face. He wanted to sit down. Wanted a drink. Wanted to forget the past month or two.

What's new?

Turning away from the comfy looking beds, Dean headed back outside. This time, when he rounded the passenger side of the car, he found Sam had made some progress. He had his feet on the ground by now, but was still sitting in the car, leaning heavily against the open door, head down. Dean paused a short distance away, not wanting to pressure or crowd his brother. In all honesty, he wasn't completely sure how Sam was doing. And even less sure what Sam needed from him.

"Sam?" He asked softly after a few seconds.

"Yeah." Sam looked up at him. Well, he lifted his head a bit anyway; as bleary as his eyes were, Dean wasn't sure he was really seeing anything.

Dean shook his head, "How are you even awake, man?" He held out a hand, "Come on, Sleepy, past your bedtime."

That got him a brief but genuine smile and Dean even managed to return it. Sam nodded and Dean reached down to help him up; then did his best to ignore how much Sam was trembling, how stiff and weak he was. He just needs sleep. And food. And more sleep, Dean told himself over and over as they slowly walked to the door.

"Almost there. Then you can sleep for a month, ok?" Dean encouraged as they stepped into the room. "How's that sound?"

Sam gave him a thumbs up, but whispered, "Shower first."

Dean wanted to protest that plan, but he couldn't blame Sam for wanting to get the stink of that hospital off him. Understood, but he wasn't sure Sam was going to stay upright that long. Cautiously he asked, "You sure you're up for it?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, pulling away ever so slightly and fumbling with the strap of his backpack.

"I'll get it." Dean said, grabbing the bag from his brother. Sam nodded and took another step away, starting to work on peeling his jacket off. Dean made sure he wasn't going to topple over, then let him be and walked the bag to the bathroom. It was a nice bathroom for once, Dean thought in appreciation. Spacious and clean. Turning the shower on to get it warmed up, Dean called out, "There's good water pressure, Sammy!"

Turning around, he hurried back into the other room and nearly ran into his brother. Catching his arm when Sam wavered, Dean frowned and said, "You sure you don't want a nap first?"

Sam just shook his head, sidestepped Dean and, in a completely uncharacteristic move, let his jacket hit the floor right where he had been standing. Ten unsteady steps later, the bathroom door closed softly behind him. For a moment, Dean just stood there, hands on his waist, staring with narrowed eyes at the closed door, anticipating a thud, or a cry for help, or something. Instead, he heard some muted movement and the shower curtain being pulled back and forth. Satisfied for the moment that his brother hadn't fallen over, yet, Dean took a deep breath.

He reached down for Sam's jacket, turned around and tripped over his shoes. Dean kicked them out of the way, tossed the jacket onto the bed and started toward the food. Before he got that far, though, his legs refused to hold him any longer. Going down fast, Dean caught the edge of the bed and flopped down on it heavily. A wave of dizziness passed over him and he felt ice cold, then burning hot and all he could do was let himself fall backwards until he was sprawled back on the bed, feet still on the floor.

The next two chapters are in proofing and revision stage so I'm hoping I'll be posting at least a chapter a week. That's my goal anyway! Thank you so much for reading!